


Hell Is Other People

by Unawarewolf



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Fist Fights, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Howling, Hunting, Lots of salmon, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Ringo is perfect, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, So much howling, Summary is terrible sorry, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Werewolves, national parks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 18:04:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20139718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unawarewolf/pseuds/Unawarewolf
Summary: Patryk is lost, and it's awful, and this was a terrible choice. All he wanted was cell service to call a tow, and now he's in the middle of the forest in the dead of night, with a dim flashlight like some shitty horror game. Something is in the woods with him. Waiting, watching, following his every move...





	Hell Is Other People

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My mate ♥](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+mate+%E2%99%A5).

> Hey, this is my first time ever attempting a "real story" so feedback would be much appreciated! It's going to be a chapter fic, but I'm not sure how long it'll end up being. This first chapter is pretty short but hopefully they'll get longer (and better) and they go on. Updates might be slow at first because I'm pretty anxious when it comes to writing, a chapter a week or two maybe? Idk, we'll see.  
Well, I hope you enjoy regardless. PS: Sorry the summary sucks. I'll fix it eventually.

The murmur of the wind through the leaves settled uneasily over the wood. Thick, suffocating darkness pierced only by pinprick stars hung above the canopy, a silence only broken by the occasional, but very distant, rumble of cars and semi-trucks down Route 89. Time has no distinct meaning here; Much less in numbers and more in a spectrum of daylight. He wasn't himself, and he knew it. Senses heightened but traded off for a lack of understanding- a lack of sentience only perceived by a rare few. He still understood, of course. He was aware of his surroundings, of the moon hanging still like a searchlight in the inky blackness; Deeply, intoxicatingly full. It settled in his bones and made his fur stand on end, it clouded his mind, as primeval as it was at that moment. Blood pounded in his ears as he ran, weaving through the tall beech trees and heavy maples. Twigs and leaves snag in his thick coat, dry leaves crack like bones under his paws.

He was tracking a scent- unfamiliar in a scene he knew quite well. Rust and wildflowers, and fear, and torn ancient book pages. It pulled him in, drew him in a way that was nearly as strong as the moon herself. He would uncover it, he would finally sate this bastardizing draw.

\----

With a heavy sigh, Patryk slammed the hood of his truck a bit harder than necessary. He was frustrated, on a long stretch of highway a few miles out of town in the middle of the night. As if the timing couldn't be worse, there was no cellphone signal for at least another ten miles. He knew the lay of the land at least, having lived in northern Montana for most of his life. If he cut through the, admittedly very dark and _very_ dense stretch of woodland, he would come out on the other side only a mile or two from town. Of course, he absolutely did not want to fucking do that, thank you very much. He could hitchhike, he supposed, but growing up on _Without A Trace_ and _Cold Case_ really didn't inspire trust in strangers.

Digging his flashlight out of his trunk, Patryk weighed the pros and cons vaguely in his mind. Of course, there were wild animals, and always the chance to get lost in the trees. On the other hand, it would be much less walking for his tired legs to do, and as per usual, laziness tends to win out. So, with a bit of a huff and little fanfare, he began to hike.

\----

He was getting closer, he could sense it. Wind swept past his fur, desperation kept a death-grip on his mind. He couldn't think, nor control himself, all he knew was to run; All he knew was instinct, and instinct was all he was. The trees rush by in a blur, the scent was so close he could almost taste it, almost feel it. It drowns out everything, it consumes him. He needs to bite, to rip into flesh, to pull it apart-

Patryk is lost, and it's awful, and this was a terrible choice. All he wanted was cell service to call a tow, and now he's in the middle of the forest in the dead of night, with a dim flashlight like some shitty horror game. Every rustle of the leaves puts him more on edge, was that something in the thicket? Is there something there, someone even? He tries to call out, but his voice dies before it can even begin-

He explodes out of the bushes, a snarl ripping from his throat at the sight ahead of him. The source of his turmoil, everything culminating into a mess of anger, and fear, and exhaustion, and uncontrollable hunger. His mind is screaming, _"It's a person, It's a person, It's a person- Stop!"_ but what can he do? He can't focus, can't place his paws where they need to go: Away. Rust, and sweat, and the scent of books. Trapped in a prison of fur and flesh. A backseat driver in his own body, Paul watches himself lunge for the neck.


End file.
